


The Art of Noise

by blindvigilante



Category: Black Mirror (TV), Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist Colin, Crushes, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 04:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17573720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindvigilante/pseuds/blindvigilante
Summary: Colin is an artist. That much Stefan knows.





	The Art of Noise

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO I was rewatching bandersnatch and noticed something INTERESTING, during that one scene in Tuckersoft after Colin's gone missing, there's a zoom in to Colin's desk and a cool ass sketch of [this skull](https://i.ibb.co/SyJx2fJ/2019-01-27-2.png) can be seen in the far right corner, which basically inspired this little thing. I might add more to it but who knows! Anyways, enjoy!

He happened to catch them one day, staring back at him with those harsh dark lines, stringy and rough around the edges.

“ These–these are amazing. “ It's said with such zeal, such admiration. Colin’s the demon he worships, after all.

“ Thank you. “ His tone drips with the least of attention, like an after-thought, as he was ready to ignore Stefan’s compliment. It isn’t malicious, the intention. At least he acknowledges Stefan’s presence, that’s already a plus. “ Do you have any more of these? “ Stefan’s curious to know what else can be done by Colin’s mastermind hands, besides flawless coding. Delicate portraits of nude women, men, beautiful flowers and what not. Or intricate, abstract traces. snakes and worms and sketches that make you question not only his sanity but yours as well.

Stefan eyes the skull sketch. The outline is harsh, dark. The eyes a bottomless pit of dark shadows. It fits the rendition of Colin he’s got engraved on his mind. He suspects his art might fit the latter category. “ i do. back at home, under lock. Where no one can see them. Sketches mostly. “ The words are slightly muffled under the damp roll-up paper balancing on his skinny lips. Stefan tries not to linger his gaze on them. “ i draw whatever comes to mind, really. “

A bony finger dares to follow the dark path of the outline, feeling the slight dent left on the paper. Colin probably presses way too much in the paper, trying to portray his anger on the blank canvas. Stefan wonders what went through Colin’s mind as he created such a piece. Death? Memories of what once was his end? Or maybe a lost lover? Anything that can fit inside a symbol so morbid as a human skull. Perhaps, it wasn’t even human. Nothing about Colin Ritman is as ordinary as a human being. “ Would you ever show them to me? “ He’s feeling quite daring today, he spurts the question quickly and harshly in hopes Colin would take it as gibberish and pay it no mind. 

“ Sure. “ Stefan never thought a four letter word would make his hummingbird heart flutter so fast. “ Come by whenever. Today, if you can. “ Colin diverts his gaze from the good worn colorful monitor to Stefan’s own visage. They aren’t that close but the lighting allows Stefan to almost see every speckle of constellations all over Colin’s face. It makes Stefan wish he was an artist like Colin, this way he could ran back to his desk, grab a tousled piece of paper and map every freckle he was able to count on Colin’s face. “ Yeah. “ He will. “ Later. “

 

-

 

His apartment is as extravagant as Colin is. The walls speak pop culture, the colors scream languages Stefan has never heard of. Colin looks at home in the middle of every artifact, furniture piece. Stefan wastes no time and sits himself on the leather couch in front of Colin’s work-space. The place is as snazzy as Colin’s back at Tuckersoft. Notes scattered all over, dust decorating the very top of the commodore and spectrum monitor, giving it character, mostly. “ Where the magic happens. “ another roll-up obstructs his voice, Stefan cracks the littlest of smiles.

Colin holds up his index finger before leaving the room, leaving Stefan’s bony figure lingering where the magic happens. A record player lays in the corner. Stefan grabs a random record besides it and puts it on, grabbing the needle and letting it drop slowly. Blue Monday caress his ears immediately. “ Good choice. “ Colin announces his return as creatively as he is himself, Stefan thinks. “ Here. Some are old, some are new. depends of which, depends if you want to know. Depends if i want you to know. “ The sheets are all crumpled, as if they were carelessly shoved in some old drawer and left to perish, something that doesn’t really surprise Stefan. 

Freckled hands take the offered pieces as if they were a long lost treasure. His gaze dart around the sketches with enthusiasm, trying to take each of them in at the same time. All he knows is that he was right in his assumptions. Every sketch is different, some are colored and some are not. There’s a red lion figure that stole his attention immediately, its mane holding unspoken secrets Stefan never knew laid in Colin’s mind. There’s some portraits, gorgeous ones, really, but just so unconventional. Stefan doesn’t have to be an artist to tell the proportions aren’t entirely right, but they add such sentiment to each piece. The enlarged limbs, extremities, eyes are endearing, to say the least. Not to mention the combination of color that project every feeling perfectly.

Colin is an amazing artist. talented. extremely talented. A mastermind. he’s-

“ Good. “ Stefan blinks, amazed. “ These–good. These are good. “ He wants to speak his mind out, tell Colin how each of his drawings make him feel. Project himself unto him and in the process confess his worship towards him. Maybe those drawings aren’t even good, its the adoration he’s feeling making them seem extraordinary. Maybe those sheets of paper are blank and Stefan is seeing whatever his mind wants him to see. Maybe. “ You are very talented, Colin. “ Unlike me, he wants to say. Life isn’t always fair, his mother had once told him. It isn’t fair that a man such as Colin, attractive, interesting, endearing, intoxicating had so many talents, so many assets and fame and money and–everything. Stefan isn’t really sure if he wants to be him or have him.

“ Talent doesn’t exist, its called practice. “ His dear Colin, always so wise. always so ready to speak up his mind and let his tongue drip with truth and only truth, says. “ Anyone could do this with enough practice, if you think of it. “ He’s right. He’s always right. Why is he always right? “ Yeah. i guess. “ Stefan can only nod, gaze still lingering on the pieces all over the leathery surface of the couch. “ What can i call you then if talent doesn’t exist? “ Gifted? that’s a bit too much. Well-practiced doesn’t seem as romantic. 

“ Colin. “ Somehow, that’s more fitting than talented.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Colin's art to resemble Jean Michel Basquiat's with a bit of malenabozzini's (instagram) judging by that small hint of what he can create. Hope this was enjoyable! Find me on instagram or tumblr by adaricruz <3


End file.
